


Memory Of A (Broken) Heart

by CastielsCarma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Sex, Bickering, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Royal Castiel, Royal Dean Winchester, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: Dean Winchester is at court trying to win Princess Lilith's heart. Undecided even though she has many suitors, Lilith declares that they all spend the night, leaving her one more day to decide. Dean is fine with it until he realizes he has to share rooms with Prince Castiel, a man he shares an (unfortunate) past with. Will Dean survive the night or will Castiel anger him into murder?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 138





	Memory Of A (Broken) Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [destiel_otp_yayy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destiel_otp_yayy/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for the lovely destiel_opt_yayy! Her wish was: I would love an AU, enemies to lovers where they have to share a room or something!!! 
> 
> I hope this ticks all the boxes. Happy birthday! <3 
> 
> All comments and kudos make me happy. I appreciate you all so much!

Dean Winchester glances at the other men in the room and tries not to frown. He has heard about competition but this is ridiculous. Not only are there more heirs and royal blood in the room than usual for courting, but they are all good-looking too. As Dean tries not to linger on each royal face too much, he definitely notices that there aren't any round potato noses, no pox-scarred skin, no gaps between teeth. Hell, there's not even a pimple in sight and Dean knows that some of these royal puppets are more boys than men. They _should_ have pimples at least.

Dean adjusts his golden embroidered vest and sighs. Apparently, princess Lilith knew what she was looking for and it was rarer than gold in a farmer's pocket. The only reason Dean is here is that his father had insisted that it was the proper time for him to settle down and secure the future of the kingdom. He is not interested in royal children or royal duties for that matter.

Well, that is a lie. He loves kids, but if his father thought that he'd fuck some girl – royal or not – to produce heirs, he didn't know his own son. Unfortunately for Dean. John Winchester, the first of his name _does_ know his son and had threatened to give the title to his younger brother Sam. And Dean is ready to rule but it is to be _his_ rule _._ He will not lend his father his ear and he will not allow his hand to be controlled. And if he can spare his younger brother – Gods he was only nine the burden – he would.

Trying not to scowl – he doesn't want to start a war again although it had only lasted one day and technically there hadn't been swords involved but pens – Dean reaches for his sword and grits his teeth when he remembers that they come with peace. His sword _Submission_ had been taken away and although the carrier had sworn they would take great care of the weapon, Dean is uneasy. _Submission_ is his, what do they know about proper sword maintenance?

“I thank you for your patience, dear Lords and royal Highnesses. Princess Lilith is blinded by your beauty and chivalry but alas, she will need more time. We have prepared quarters for the night but since you come in vast numbers some of you will have to share arrangements. Do not fret, every service that becomes guests of your stature will be granted you.”

Dean stiffens. He does not want to spend the night in the castle and would much rather be in a tavern or inn. Fuck and this means he'll have to be apart from _Submission_ even longer. Halfheartedly, Dean listens to the king as he speaks the names out loud and princes are directed to their sleeping chambers, that is until he hears his own name.

“Dean Winchester of Kansoor and Castiel Krushnic of Haven, please follow Amara.”

Dean nods and follows the girl while a quiet fire burns inside his chest. For the longest time, he hopes against all reason that it isn't _that_ Castiel but how many royal Castiel are there?

Sure enough, a tall, dark-haired man comes from his left and walks in front of him. Dean has to slow his step as not to walk into his broad frame. Bastard.

He can't see much of him but he recognizes the colors. A blue coat the color of the ocean with silver embroidery flares behind him as Castiel walks with determined steps. His broad shoulders – Castiel has grown out of his lanky boyhood – seem relaxed. Dean can't even pin his gaze on Amara's back so instead, he has to stare at Castiel's dark hair.

They move through corridors lit by lanterns, seeing other royals being escorted to their chambers. Amara takes them up a flight of stairs. The stone is smooth and tapestries hang on the walls. Castiel doesn't say a word, he just follows Amara silently.

Finally, she stops in front of a room at the end of a long corridor. “Your quarters, Your Highnesses.” She opens the door and curtsies.

Castiel walks inside and Dean quickly follows.

With only one look at the room, Dean turns to Amara. “This will not do.”

Amara's smile falters. “Your Highness?”

Dean glances at Castiel and quickly looks away. Whatever memory Dean has had of Castiel is all wrong now. He's transformed from a young boy with captivating blue eyes to a grown man with equally captivating blue eyes. Dean wishes he was foul to look at but his treacherous heart doesn't agree with the sentiment. Just one look and all of Dean's memories come back.

“There is only one bed. I will take it of course, but Castiel will need other rooms.”

Amara's face is impassive but Dean notices the panic in her eyes. Your Highness, these are your rooms. The castle is overrun with honored guests for the – “

“Surely, there are sleeping quarters for the servants. I don't mind sleeping there.”

Amara shakes her head. “I can not.” She backs away, bowing as she does. “If you need anything, don't hesitate to call upon a servant. I hope everything will be to your satisfaction, Your Highness.” She glances at Castiel and curtsies again before practically running from the room. The door closes with a loud thud.

“I'm not satisfied,” Dean calls out but Amara is gone.

Dean crosses his arms and stares at Castiel.

“I'm taking the bed,” Castiel declares.

“Like hell you are. _I'm_ taking the bed. I saw it first.”

Castiel scoffs and walks over to a dresser. He opens the doors and Dean sees sleeping tunics and soft linens.

He starts to unbutton his coat.

“What are you doing? If you think I'm going to sleep with you – “

Castiel arches an eyebrow and suddenly his ire is replaced by amusement. “I have no such thoughts but you apparently – “

Dean storms towards Castiel and places a hand on the door to the dresser, slamming it shut. “Sleep _in the same bed_ with you”, Dean hisses, “you are mistaken.”

“Well, the hour is late. I for one am tired and let's face it, Lilith's best qualities don't involve catering to any other person's needs.” Castiel continues to unbutton his coat and shrugs it off with ease. It lands on the floor. “Now, you can either back off so I can grab a tunic, or I can sleep naked. Your call, Dean.”

Dean exhales harshly and lets go of the door.

“I see not everything about the Winchester clan is set in stone. You have gained some measure of reason.” Castiel smiles and looks down as he starts to unbutton his shirt.

Castiel's dark voice sends a shiver of excitement through Dean but his words only anger him. It will be known that Dean usually isn't so hotheaded but there is something about Castiel that brings forth his passion.

Dean pushes Castiel against the dresser, his palm pressed firmly against Castiel's chest. “Now, how about this for reason? I take the left side. You take the right. If you so much as touch me, I'll cut you.”

Castiel narrows his eyes but his lips are set in anger. “Would not be the first time. You have a penchant for stabbing people in the back. Your _Highness_.”

Dean can feel Cas' breath against his hand with each inhale. He backs away as if burned. “If you're talking about _that_ time, I didn't stab you in the back.” He walks over to the window and grabs the burning candle that the servants prepared. The hot coal is already under the bed but Dean places the candle next to the small bedside table and touches the sheets. They feel warm.

“You were silent, how was that any different?”

“So I should've just admitted I wrote that letter? That I wrote it to _you_?” Dean spits out the words. “I saved both of us.” He turns with a glare towards Castiel.

Castiel scoffs and tosses his leather boots on the floor. He looks Dean straight in the eye as he unbuckles his belt. “You don't think _you_ deserve to be saved. That's always been your problem. And it was my predicament to solve, not yours.”

Dean ignores Castiel and removes his coat. He places it on a chest and quickly unbuttons his shirt.

He hears the rustling of sheets and turns back to Castiel just as he drops his pants.

Castiel has his back to Dean but that doesn't matter. The shadows from the candles play over his back and Dean's eyes go down to the shape of Castiel's ass. His blood flashes hot and Dean exhales sharply.

Castiel turns around and Dean shakes his head. He could see the vague outline of Castiel's body, and it angers him that his body is reacting at all.

Finishing with his shirt, Dean tosses the shirt on the floor and pulls off his boots. He grabs a tunic for sleeping and pulls it over himself before divesting himself off his pants.

Walking over to the window, Dean pulls on the heavy curtains. They cast the room in darkness and the only light source now is the candle flickering. It will burn down during the night, the remaining wax collected and the candle replaced by a new one in the morning.

Castiel still hasn't motioned to grab any sleeping garments and is instead glaring at Dean.

“Are you not going to put on a tunic?”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “No. I've changed my mind.”

Dean exhales sharply. “Fine. Not that I fucking care. Move.”

Castiel pulls the linen covers over himself. “Why would I do such a thing? I just made myself comfortable.”

Raking a hand through his hair, Dean grits his teeth. He is on the verge of storming out and sleeping outside in the halls but that wouldn't befit someone of his royal stature. Sharing a bed with this lesion of a man doesn't befit his royal stature either. “I said I'm taking the left side.”

“Well, it's already taken. You can take the right side or sleep on the floor.” Castiel's voice is cold but there's an unspoken challenge underneath, vibrating, ready to erupt.

Dean pulls the covers away and settles on the right side. The tunic creates a barrier between him and Castiel, something that he's grateful for since they're sharing covers.

He tries not to move much but he's acutely aware of Castiel and his distinct lack of clothes.

“You have accumulated some wisdom, Dean,” Cas says out loud into the darkness.

After a short beat of silence, Dean's curiosity gets the better of him. “How so?”

“The younger you would've slept on the floor.”

Dean scoffs. “Fuck you. I wouldn't.”

Castiel laughs. “Really?”

“The younger me would've punched you, and then slept on the floor.”

Dean can hear Castiel move. “So do you think you'll be on Lilith's mind tonight?”

“Hardly. I don't think she has room for anyone else in there besides herself. And I can't imagine calling her father blood of mine.”

“I think I might win her heart.”

All this talk about Lilith makes Dean uncomfortable which is strange because he is there trying to win her hand. On his father's orders no less but to save his brother, he'd try to the best of his ability.

“Do you want to win her heart?” Dean asks.

He can feel Castiel turn and face him. “Why do you care?”

“I don't – “

“Look at me when I'm talking to you.” Castiel's voice is harsh but Dean notes the undercurrent of hurt. What does he have to feel hurt about?

Nonetheless, Dean looks at Castiel and almost wishes he hadn't. Even in the dim light, the candle gives off, Castiels' eyes are shining. Just the smallest of light is enough to reflect the spark back to Dean, that spark that is perpetually in Castiel's eyes but Dean knows is born in his heart.

“Do you want to win her heart?”

Dean scoffs. “What are wants when you're royalty?” His heart will never be won and neither will he allow someone else to enter his, but Castiel doesn't need to know that.

“'I know wants is something that I can seldom contemplate – “

Dean goes rigid. “Stop.”

But Castiel goes on, like he always does, ever strong of will.

“'-- but I know this. I _want_ you. Ever since I first talked to you, I've felt this profound bond with you. With each passing hour, day and week that we're together this bond strengthens – “

Dean doesn't think, he just does. He covers Castiel's mouth with his hand. “I told you to stop.”

Castiel arches an eyebrow and grabs Dean's wrist. His grip is surprisingly strong as he pulls Dean's hand away. “Or what? You're gonna bring out that sword of yours? And I don't mean the short one.”

Dean feels his blood boil. Castiel is as insufferable as he is attractive and that says a lot. “I swear by all the Gods – “

“Mm.” That's all the warning Dean gets before his arm is away from Castiel's body. A hard yank at his shoulder as Castiel grabs him and Dean lands flat on his back on the left side of the bed. “There, the _left_ side of the bed is all yours, your Highness.”

Castiel straddles Dean and places his hands on his shoulders. Dean doesn't know if he's supposed to be aroused or angry so his body settles on a confusing mix where his blood boils and his cock stirs. “Cas, I swear if you don't get off...”

“You'll do what exactly?”

Castiel presses down with his legs and Dean exhales in frustration. He did notice that Castiel had broad shoulders earlier but now he's aware of how strong Castiel really is. And that he's naked.

“Cas... I don't – “

“You don't what? You don't want _this_?” Castiel grinds down on his cock.

Dean exhales sharply.

“You don't want _this_?” Castiel smirks and leans over him as his hands slide down Dean's arms to pin his wrists to the mattress. He cocks his head and leans in close to Dean.

The sheer proximity of Castiel so close has Dean's heart thumping like a wild rabbit. He feels Castiel's breath on his skin and Gods save him, he wants Castiel like no other.

“I would have followed you. I wasn't the heir. But you denied me, you even denied it was your words in that letter. You denied _us_.”

“He'd have your head,” Dean exhales as Castiel's breath ghosts across his skin.

Dean wants to keep that anger burning but all that burns now is desire, a desire that Castiel keeps stoking. He presses his lips on Dean's throat and leaves a trail of fire as he kisses down his chest. He stops just as the tunic covers the rest of Dean's skin.

“What about you? You want my head too?” Castiel sounds amused but there is steel coated in that silkiness. He's still angry.

Dean's had it with Castiel's thinly veiled taunts. As Castiel lets go of his wrists, Dean gets up, only to grab Castiel by the back of his neck. He winds his fingers deep in his hair and moans. It's just as he remembers it, thick and smooth. “What the fuck do you want?”

Castiel practically growls. “Isn't it obvious?” He rips open the front of Dean's tunic. “ _You_.”

Dean is on Castiel in a heartbeat. “You son-of-a-bitch.” He presses his lips on Castiel's and groans. No time has passed and Dean is brought back to the last day they kissed with abandon. Castiel tastes the same – of stormy night-skies and the scorching sun – and Dean could just taste his kisses and never starve.

“It's not your tunic,” Castiel mumbles against Dean's lips before he claims his mouth. He pulls harder on the fabric until Dean's arms and chest are exposed completely. “Much better.” He pushes Dean back on the bed.

Dean is lost in delirium. A thousand warring thoughts fly through him but as soon as Castiel caresses his skin, two thoughts shine with alarming clarity. He wants this. He wants Castiel.

He comes up to meet Castiel and moans when he feels the weight of him pressing down. “I've missed this, Cas.”

“I do remember you being greedy.” For the first time, Castiel shows Dean a genuine smile. “I'm greedy too.”

Dean gasps as Castiel grabs his cock and strokes it. He's already painfully hard and the way Castiel moves his thumb over his head and how he twists his hand has Dean painting. He closes his eyes against the pillow and grabs Castiel's arm, stroking it absently. “Fuck, this is better... you're better than I remember.”

“Fuck you,” Castiel says but he's laughing.

It does something to Dean. He finds himself having difficulties remembering why he is mad at Castiel.

He's back to the years when they had their clandestine meetings, when they trusted each other implicitly, when the world was simpler and they just lived from one moment to the next, royal duties pulling at them but their love always being the core of who they were, the very thing that made them come back to each other again and again.

“That's the plan.” Dean roams his hands over Castiel and ignores the tiny voice that speaks of his distinct lack of a plan – he sure as hell didn't plan on ending up in a prince's bed when he's trying to end up in a princess' bed – but at this moment royal duties and Lilith are the furthest things on his mind.

Castiel's ministrations leave Dean breathless. He pulls at Castiel's face and kisses him hard. His lips travel to the side of his neck; he needs to leave some mark of this night but it's as if Castiel reads his mind.

“No marks, Dean. We don't want to create royal gossip.”

Dean moans at the loss. “It's not gossip if it's true.”

Castiel chuckles darkly and laves his tongue down Dean's collarbone. “You have a point. But I can mark you in other ways.”

Dean feels a finger against his hole and mumbles. “I consent. This will do.”

Castiel presses his pad against Dean's taint. “Let's see if we can do better than 'this will do.'”

“I know you have your finger against my asshole but if you don't proceed, _you'll_ be the bigger asshole.”

Castiel bends down and whispers in Dean's ear. “Your tongue has grown quite sharp in my absence. Next time, I'll remedy that.”

A thrill of excitement goes through Dean. He doesn't even dwell on the very real possibility that there won't be a next time. He stays quiet. There's no need to antagonize Castiel further – not now at least.

“Good.” Without warning, Castiel pushes his finger inside.

Dean groans against the intrusion. The sharp pain and pleasure blend until they're indistinguishable.

“If you want more, you have to earn it.”

Dean moves against Castiel's finger. He wants more but he can only move so far.

Castiel chuckles darkly. “Look at you. Dean Winchester of Kansoor, at the beck and call of one man.”

“Please...”

Castiel sighs and Dean knows Castiel will yield. They haven't seen each other for years, but Dean remembers. Each movement is etched into Dean's skin, every single breath and sigh echoes in his dreams. Even when Dean resented him, the memory of who Castiel was never faded, and Dean refused to let it.

Castiel removes the finger and Dean licks his lips as he feels Castiel's cock settling in between his cheeks. “I'd offer you some oil or grease,” Castiel starts.

Dean frowns. “Where would you get oil?” He pauses. “I could summon Amara.”

Castiel clicks with his tongue. “It seems you have acquired some new tastes while I was gone.”

“Let's say the tastes I have, well, I'd say they've matured. But I only speak of the oil this time, nothing else.”

Castiel hums. “Of course you are.”

Dean exhales sharply as Castiel pushes inside without warning. “Fuck.” He moves against Castiel but Castiel places his hands on Dean's hips, urging him to pause.

“You've grown soft,” Dean moans. It's hard to focus on anything except the burn and the feeling of being very full. He's missed this. And he realizes he's missed this with Castiel.

“I'll show you soft.” Castiel's grip on his hips tighten and he pulls back only to slam into Dean.

A jolt of pain so intertwined with pleasure that Dean can't tell which is which goes through him. All Dean knows is that the sensation is pleasurable and he wants more. He grabs Castiel's wrist and nods, even though he's not certain that Castiel can see it.

Dean thinks his moans are enough because Castiel doesn't slow down. He's already settled for a rhythm and he's busy taking his pleasure.

“You feel so good, Dean,” Castiel pants. “Your ass was made for this, made to bring me pleasure, and only me.”

His grip is almost bruising but Dean doesn't mind. He gave his consent for other markings and he stands by it. Where Castiel's touch anchors him, his words have Dean soaring with pleasure. “Just like that.”

Dean moves slightly and pushes his hand against the headboard. “Please.” He's not sure why or what for he begs. Maybe it's for forgiveness, maybe it's for Castiel to end this – end this fucking that is both pleasure and pain – maybe it's for Castiel to never stop.

Whatever intention Dean has Castiel reads it. “You beg pretty for royalty.”

The words sweep over Dean like wildfire. “Fuck, Cas.” And there it is then, the endearment that so effortlessly leaves his tongue. Cas.

Castiel doesn't pause. Like the night that inevitably conquers day and spreads its darkness interspersed with sparkles of light, Castiel doesn't relent.

He grabs Dean's cock that weeps and strokes it a few times but Dean feels it coiling inside him; the urge to come and he feels the same urge in Castiel. It's there, in how he pants, how he tightens his hold on Dean – and he images it's tight because he never wants to let go, not because he desires to punish.

Dean pushes Castiel's hand away, grabs his aching cock, and starts chasing his completion.

Castiel moves his leg and hits another angle that has Dean seeing stars. The world diminishes, the magic of lived experience fading. The only thing that matters is Castiel fucking him senseless and the pleasure Dean can bring him.

“Gods, Dean.” Castiel's words leave him like a prayer and Dean is lost. He grabs the sheets, fists tight, and screams out his pleasure as he comes, his cock pulsating.

That is what pushes Castiel over the edge. He slows down a fraction as he spills inside Dean, then slowly fucks him until he's spent.

As Castiel pulls out, Dean can feel the evidence of his pleasure running down his legs.

Castiel moves away and leaves the bed without a word.

Dean rises slowly and leans against the headboard. He dismisses the pang of loss he feels. He's here for Lilith, not love, yet he can't help but follow Castiel with his eyes as he walks to the dresser.

Castiel opens the dresser, grabs something, and closes it again. “Here, use this.” He tosses it on the bed, and Dean realizes it's a piece of linen cloth. He cleans himself off hurriedly and tosses it in the corner.

Suddenly the heat Dean cultivated that left his body warm has vanished. He feels the night chill and pulls up the cover. He wants to speak but fears that words will shatter the illusion of whatever happened just moments ago.

“You still want to sleep on your side?” Castiel says. “Or are you comfortable with touching?”

Dean snorts loudly – more with relief than anything else. “You can claim whatever side you like.”

“I know, I claimed you. But it doesn't hurt to be polite.”

“Asshole.”

Castiel chuckles. “Since you seem so fond of them, I hardly think you calling me an asshole is an insult, wouldn't you say?”

Dean doesn't really have an answer so he remains quiet.

Castiel eases back into bed. He angles his body towards Dean and kisses him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“We just want to express our gratitude for the good lay.”

Dean punches Castiel on the shoulder. “Asshole.”

“Apologies. Thank you for the good asshole.”

Dean laughs then and it feels so easy. All the mistakes, the misunderstandings between them are erased and forgotten. All that exists is the present.

Castiel wraps an arm around Dean without hesitation, claiming him.

Dean likes it, yet he remains still. The night will soon die down, as will this precarious thing between them. Even though mere seconds have passed, Dean already feels the question hanging over them like a boulder. It threatens to pull Dean under into a sea of despair, so he decides to cut his agony short. “We need to sleep. You have a heart to win tomorrow.”

Castiel sighs heavily. “I do.”

The beat of seconds is drowned out by Dean's drumming heart. He wants to speak but his tongue is dry like old parchment and the words he wants to utter won't stay. He remains silent.

“I tried today but he's quite stubborn. Some would even say dimwitted.”

Dean stills. “What are you saying?”

Castiel sighs again and pulls Dean closer to him, not minding their sweat-soaked skin. “I'm saying that if tonight wasn't proof of my intentions regarding you, I'll have to try again tomorrow to win your heart. Maybe the sun will illuminate the notion far better than moonlight.”

Dean stares at Castiel. “What about Lilith?”

“She has many suitors. I won't be missed. Nor will I miss her. Hers is not the heart I vie for. What about you?”

“I – “ Dean is fairly certain that he understands the sentiment of what Castiel is saying yet his heart is guarded. “Did you call me dimwitted?”

“I did. The only question is if that is a temporary ailment or something that is... well, innate.”

“Cas...”

“ _Dean_...”

Now Dean can clearly hear the amusement in Castiel's voice.

He's royalty; he's faced unpleasantries ranging from coats that were too snug to Crowley, secretary of the treasury, attempting to tax the capital's waste. Yet the question that he needs, _wants_ to ask is one that makes him uneasy, but he longs for the answer.

After an eternity, Dean finally asks. “Are you trying to win back _my_ heart?”

Castiel's answer comes without embellishments. “Yes.”

Hope, so strong that it surprises him, wraps around Dean, and coils tight around his heart.

“Have I succeeded?” Castiel asks.

Dean's lips turn upwards into a smile and he grabs Castiel's chin, pulling him in for a kiss. Castiel kisses him softly, almost lovingly, and Dean regrets having to abandon those sinful lips but he owes him an answer. “Yes, Cas, you have.”

Castiel laughs. “Good. It was my beauty and chivalry wasn't it?”

Dean snorts in amusement and kisses Castiel again. “I'll need more time to answer that.”

“Fuck you,” Castiel says but he tightens his hold on Dean. “I'm never letting you go again.”

Dean relaxes against Castiel, finding comfort in the warmth, finding comfort in old memories of Castiel, and in the possibilities a future together holds for them. “Good, because I'm never letting you go either.”


End file.
